Fix Me
by mcplestreet
Summary: When the war is over Draco Malfoy finds himself struggling to cope with the horror he saw. After nearly a year of struggling he finally decides to see a therapist. Only hr experience of therapy isn't exactly what he expects it to be. Dramione oneshot


**Once Upon a Time Category Challenge** by **TrueBeliever831**

Archie/Jiminy Cricket- write a Therapist!AU

 **Ultimate Writer Challenge by CrimsonWonder**

Write 3 AU's of your choice

Hope you enjoy this story! It's loosely based off of a wonderful story I read not so long ago :) (hopefully there aren't too many typos in this)

Disclaimer: this story is a _oneshot_. It will not be continued.

* * *

There were countless things Draco Malfoy thought he would never do. Growing up he believed with all his heart that he would never go to a therapist. Then again, at the young age of eleven he also never thought that there would be a war, and that his entire world would be turned upside down. After seeing the horrors the war brought, including seeing many of his classmates lifeless bodies cast aside like rubbish, he found himself haunted by nightmares and flashbacks.

The process of admitting he needed help was long and difficult. Pretending everything was fine around family and friends was getting harder with every passing day. He not only had trouble falling asleep, but the idea of crawling into bed and subjecting himself ti the nightmares he knew would come was terrifying. Draco would lie awake for hours, fighting away his inevitable slumber. And after only a short nap he would wake up yelling, the horrifying images he had seen playing in his head.

After almost a year he finally came to terms with the idea that he needed help. This decision was made easier after he'd been walking the streets and had a mid-level breakdown when some muggle children down the street had set off fireworks. Without even thinking about his actions he ran into the nearest alleyway, pulling his wand out and preparing for a fight. With every bang of the firecrackers his heart raced more and more. Later that night he figured that he had been yelling since he developed a sore throat a few hours later.

He decided to go to a muggle therapist to avoid the possibility of seeing someone he knew. It took a bit of research but he managed to find someone who specialized in people experiencing trauma from war. He knew he wouldn't be able to go into as much detail as he should to properly get better, but it was a start.

The name of the therapist he was supposed to be seeing was Dr. Morrison, and she worked for a small clinic several hours away. Draco had to apparate to an alleyway several blocks away and walk the rest of the journey. The day of his first session he several times considered not showing up and forgetting about the whole thing. But then he remembered the nightmares he would surely be having that night and continued his short journey.

After waiting in the waiting room for a few minutes his name was called by a secretary and he was given directions to the room his session would be taking place in. He walked down the hall, passing by a few muggles who looked just as sleep deprived as he did. Draco knocked on the door with a plague that said the woman name on it and only waited a few seconds for the door to open.

The face that greeted him was not the face of a stranger, as he expected. In fact he was faced with a face and a mass of curls he would never forget. The woman face seemed just as surprised as he felt. They both starred at each other, both confused and extremely surprised. She had aged slightly since he last saw her. Now she appeared as more of a woman than a young girl. And the business appropriate outfit she wore only made her look more mature.

"Granger?" He asked when he finally found his words, "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

She looked down at the planner in her hand then back up to him. "Are you supposed to be Lyle Walker?" Her eyebrows knit together, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Yeah, I used a fake name." He said quickly and defensively. Even though muggles would have no way of knowing who he was he still felt the need to hide his true identity. "Are you supposed to be Dr. Morrison."

Hermione hesitated before answering. "Well… yes." She said slowly. "I needed a break from the wizarding world, but I still wanted to help people."

The two fell silent for a few moments, both unsure of what to do. Of course Draco wanted to get help, despite the fact that it had taken awhile for him to admit so. But would he be able to tell _Hermione Granger_ about the night terrors and anxiety he experienced on a daily basis? He didn't think he would be able to. But finding someone to have sessions with had taken so long, and he wasn't sure he wanted to wait to find someone else.

The young woman cleared her throat softly and stepped to the side to leave room in the doorway. "Do you want to come in?" She asked

"I'm not sure."

She shrugged. "It's up to you, but you still have to pay for the hour if you leave."

That was all he needed to hear to encourage him. He wasn't going to pay Hermione Granger for nothing. Draco walked past her and into the small room, with a small couch across from an armchair. She took a seat in the arm chair and held a notebook and pen in her lap. He lowered himself onto the couch slowly, looking around the room. The wall was decorated with certificates, all awarded to a Patricia Morrison.

"Where did you get those?" He asked, pointing to the one nearest to him.

She followed his gaze, then looked down at her notebook and jotted something down. "It's not important."

"They're fakes aren't they?"

Hermione looked back up at him, one eyebrow raised. "We're not here to talk about me, Draco."

They were silent again for a few moments. While Draco looked at the clock, watching as the seconds ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace, she tapped her pen against her leg. Clearly neither of them had experienced an experience like the one they were in, and both had no clue how to proceed. After shifting in her chair she was the first to break the silence.

"Perhaps it would help if we just pretended as if we didn't know one another." She suggested. "You can talk to me as if I'm a stranger."

He shook his head, "No, that's stupid."

Draco heard her sigh. A small part of him felt slightly guilty for being so harsh, but it was one of the many unhealthy ways he coped with anything negative. If he didn't shut down he lashed out. During school he didn't care much about how he spoke to people. But after the war, after so many people he'd been cruel to passed away, he realized that like was too short to be cruel. He found himself regretting never apologizing to people, and feeling guilty for his childlike behavior all those years. At the same time there he was, sat in front of someone he had tormented for years, and he couldn't bring himself to even be nice to her much less apologize.

"What can I do to make this work for you, Draco?"

He starred at his hands while his leg bounced up and down. Though he wasn't planning on mentioning it he noticed how she chose to use his first name rather than his last, something she'd never done during school. "I don't know." He said after a few seconds passed. "This is all very new to me."

"I understand." From across the room he could feel her eyes, scanning him, reading his body language. He felt like the books she read with such ease, and had a feeling she was extracting information from him as easily from his as her beloved books. "How have things been since the war ended?"

A humorless laugh escaped his lips. "Not good."

"Tell me about that."

He looked up at her, "My fathers in Azkaban, along with almost everyone we know. The only reason my mother isn't in Azkaban is because she helped Potter. So, basically, things are going well."

She nodded slowly, resting her chin on her hand. "What have you been experiencing? Any nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks?"

"Yeah."

Hermione once again jotted something down down on her notebook. "Is there any more you can tell me about that?"

He shook his head. Why on earth was he opening up to Hermione Granger? He must have been even crazier than he thought he had become? A year ago if this had happened he would have marched out of there and refused to pay her. Then again he would have never considered seeking help from a muggle in the first place. But despite the part of him that was screaming to shut his mouth he found himself talking again.

"I keep seeing Lavender Brown." he admitted, unable to meet Hermione's eyes.

She waited to see if he was going to say any more before speaking up. "What about Lavender Brown."

"The killing curse leaves the body in tact. So most of the bodies just looked petrified." Draco explained, his voice quiet. "But she was… she was torn to pieces. She was destroyed. It's not right."

"You're right."

He let out a long breath, his leg bouncing up and down. Draco had hardly ever talked about the war since it had ended. Not to anyone. The only thing he'd mentioned was his dad being locked away, but only when people asked about it. He found that his voice was coming gout shaky, and he felt a familiar grip twisting his stomach in knots with anxiety. "I called her a bitch in fifth year." He admitted, "I never apologized to her."

"Guilt is a very mature feeling, Draco." She told him. "It shows that you've grown up enough to admit to yourself that your behavior was wrong."

"But I wasn't mature enough to apologize."

She shrugged, "So take the future as an opportunity to change your behavior. That way you won't have to apologize for the things you say anymore."

She was right. He knew she was right, and he could himself angry at her for _always_ being right. During his school days Draco would sometimes wondered if she was even human. It seemed impossible for a human being to be so perfect every second of every day. The rational side of his brain, a part that had become smaller and smaller as time passed, reminded him that no one was perfect but that she was just better at _appearing_ perfect. Though he wouldn't admit it to himself he spent a great amount of time thinking about Hermione Granger in the seven years that he'd known her.

"I think I've done enough talking for one day." He said abruptly. Opening up to her would be a long, and likely painful process. He didn't think he could take another forty five minutes of this.

"That's fine." She said, hardly looking surprised at his announcement. Draco got to his feet and started for the door. "Should I pencil you in for next week?" She asked before he could make his escape.

No, that would be a terrible idea. Talking about his unhealthy ways of coping with the war to Hermione Granger was the worst idea he'd ever heard of before. He would have been perfectly fine with walking out of the room and never seeing her again. His life would go on exactly like it had been going on for the past few months.

"Yes."

xXx

Opening up to her was just as slow and excruciating as he imagined it to be. He had spent months determined to keep up the appearance that everything was fine. And with weekly appointments where she gradually chipped at his facade he found himself struggling more and more to pretend everything was fine once he left her office. Everyone he knew could tell that something about him had changed, something other than the mere memories of what had happened back in may. He was thankful none of them had mentioned his behavior to him yet.

The strangest part about having sessions with Hermione was that she seemed to genuinely care about his emotional well being. She listened to what the things he told her thoughtfully, and put effort into coming up with a solution to his problems that would best suit him. He began to wonder how she could come to care for him after all he had done to her. Back in second year, before he had the capacity to realize the graveness of the situation, he had not only hoped that she would be a victim of the Chamber of Secrets but he _told_ her he hoped so. Right to her face in front of the whole school. If someone had done that to him he would never give them the time of day.

He wondered about this again during a particularly hard session. She was more curious about his father than usual, and had asked him one to many questions. The one thing he promised himself he would never talk about, under any and all circumstances, was the things that happened in his house behind closed doors. How his father threatened and beat him for years, until Draco finally turned into a version of himself that Lucius could be proud of. She asked, as gently as possible, if his father was ever cruel to him. He told her that no such thing had happened, just as he always did. All she did was ask him if he was sure, and the impossible happened.

He cried.

At first it was just a few stray tears that managed to escape, which he quickly wiped away before they could slide down his cheek. But once the first few were out he couldn't stop the rest. He choked and gasped for air, while years worth of suppressed emotions fought to break free for the first time. Draco wanted nothing more than to hide and never resurface, but settled with putting his face in his hands.

Moments later a delicate and warm hand landed on his shoulder while the space on the couch next to him sank under her weight. She let him cry, not saying a word until he had stopped. Her hand stayed on his shoulder, occasionally moving back and forth in an attempt to sooth him. Hermione's touch was gentle and caring, and not meant for someone who had been so cruel to her for so long. Without realizing it he leaned into her hand, craving the comfort he hadn't known he needed so badly.

When he finally finished crying he was the first to break the silence. "Why are you even bothering with me?" He asked, his voice coming out strained and shaky.

Her hand slid down slightly as she shifted in her seat. "What do you mean?" She asked. Though he wasn't looking at her he was sure she wore a puzzled expression. Her confusion was made clear in her voice

"Have you forgotten how I treated you in school?" He asked, still unable to meet her eyes. "Because unless you have I don't see how you could possibly have any interest in wanting to help me. Either you've forgotten or you remember and you're even crazier than I am."

She was quiet for a few moments. Draco could almost hear the gears turning in her head while she began to form the perfect response. "You're not crazy." She spoke softly, and he sensed some hesitation in her words. "But no, I haven't forgotten."

"Then why are you helping me?"

Her hand moved from his shoulder to her lap. The spot where she had touched him only seconds before quickly grew cold. He silently wished she would change her mind and put her hand back on his arm. "You haven't said it, but I know you feel guilty about how you treated me in school."

"How?" She, of course, was right. He'd never had the courage to verbalize the guilt he felt every time he stepped into her office. Sometimes when he looked at her he saw the face of a twelve year old girl who had been called 'mudblood' for the first time. When the words left his mouth he expected, even hoped, that it would hurt her feelings. The thought that he had taken joy in her pain made his stomach churn.

Hermione sighed quietly, pushing some of her curly hair behind her ear. "Well, for one, you call me Hermione now." She said with a small laugh. "And you've said that the way you used to feel about muggleborns is different from how you feel now. It's clear that you have at least some respect for me because you've been willingly taking my advice for almost two months."

"Respect and guilt are two very different things." He pointed out, finally having the courage to look at her.

Her thin brows were pulled together as she once again tried to think of an answer. "That's true." She agreed. "I just… have a feeling." She glanced over at him curiously. "Am I right?"

Draco rolled his eyes at her, "You're always right." He said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. His crying fit must have been longer than it felt since the hour was already up. He wiped his face until his skin was dry then got to his feet. "I should go."

"Okay." She said, moving from the couch to sit back in her armchair. "I'll see you next week."

He started towards the door, but found himself stopping before he could leave. The words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. Behind him he could feel her watching him, waiting for him to do something. As she usually did when she could sense his hesitation she remained quiet, waiting until he was ready. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

He was once again unable to look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on the door he'd yet to open. But he didn't need to look at her to know the exact look on her face. Over the past two months he'd learned her expressions when he started acting strange. "I am sorry, you know." He finally managed to say.

"I know."

He couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. It was such a Hermione-like response, and he hand't expected much else. "I'll see you next week." He said before opening the door and walking out of her office.


End file.
